...And Terwilliger Bunts Another One!

You know that game Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon? If you played that game with Wayne Terwilliger, I'm pretty sure you'd only need three or four degrees to reach every person who played, coached, or managed in baseball from 1880 until, say, 2080.

Twig, who is our good friend (I wrote recently about his Marine service), played 12 seasons for major and minor league teams, and has been a coach or manager for 50 years since.

Wayne Terwilliger

The man is still in a baseball uniform, in his 62nd season of professional ball. I believe nobody else who is currently active has been at it as long as Twig. It hasn't been 62 consecutive years--he ruined the streak when he "retired" for a year to manage the family tavern in Michigan. As the next season approached, he jumped at the chance to get back into the game.

The Minnesota Twins announced his retirement in 1994 and put on a celebration (in fact they were pushing him out). But instead of relaxing in the fishing boat presented to him by Kirby Puckett, Kent Herbek and other players, he turned up as first-base coach for the St. Paul Saints in '95. He retired from the Saints in 2002 to move to Texas, and promptly took the job of managing the Ft. Worth Cats. In 2005, after leading the team to the league championship and being named Manager of the Year, he retired again--as manager, that is. He was immediately hired back as a coach.

Twig was a teammate of Jackie Robinson, hit a single off Satchel Paige, was on the Dodger bench when Bobby Thomson hit "the shot heard 'round the world," coached four years with Ted Williams when Ted managed the Washington Senators (who became the Texas Rangers), won the World Series twice as a coach of the Minnesota Twins, taught Chuck Knoblauch to play second base so well that Chuck became American League Rookie of the Year... and so much more. As a young player, Twig's managers included Frankie Frisch "the Fordham Flash," whose feisty play made a big impact in the majors straight out of college beginning in 1919. As a manager and coach, he has influenced players who not only had an impact on the game but have themselves become coaches. Young players talk not just about his grasp of the fundamentals of infield play but of his enthusiasm and hustle.

I haven't even begun to tell you all the great stories about him, but you can find some of them here. It's the site I developed while Peter and I were helping him write his book, Terwilliger Bunts One.* We became friends while he coached for the Saints, and we persuaded Wayne and his wife, Lin, that his stories would made a wonderful book. He allowed us to help him write it, and it's a labor of love of which we are very proud.

Today Wayne Terwilliger turns 85. He says this is his final season in a baseball uniform--but would you take him at his word, after all those retirements and all those comebacks? I didn't think so.

Happy birthday, Twig! We hope the Cats win today and the after-game beer tastes terrific!

* "Terwilliger Bunts One" is a phrase from Annie Dillard's memoir An American Childhood, in which Annie's mother hears a play-by-play announcer exclaim those three words. She asks, "Is that even English?" For many years, the mother used the phrase as she tested a microphone or a typewriter or wanted a nonsense phrase for any purpose. Thanks to Google, we have learned that the story was included in an anthology and is used in teaching high school reading and writing classes.

Five years ago...

...Abby and Eric were married in a heartfelt ceremony followed by a truly great party. Unlike her father and I, whose rapid courtship I have been chronicling, Abby and Eric had known each other for 10 years, having become friends as college freshmen. A few years after graduation, they risked their friendship to give romance a try--and to nobody's surprise, they turned out to be a great couple. They are smart, hard-working, loving, supportive of one another, loyal to friends and family, and fabulous parents. Their wedding was by far the best I've ever experienced...an especially warm and genuine celebration enjoyed by folks of all ages. Happy Anniversary, Abby and Eric!    (Photo by Dave Scheele)

Wednesday's Word: Adorable

Bonus word: Determined.

For her birthday, ViMae got this pretty dress from Nana Ellyn and Papa Kenny. The next day she was already wearing a cute outfit when she spotted the new dress and said, "Mommy, wear beautiful dress. Take off ViMae's pants. Take off ViMae's shirt. Take off ViMae's socks. Put on beautiful dress." She repeated her request in exactly those words several times, until, her Mommy says, "I finally caved." (The hat was strictly an afterthought.)

June 23, 1985: I could live here…

Having proposed June 14, Peter’s idea was that we marry in the fall. I wasn’t ready to commit so quickly (we’d only met in April). Besides, I was going to be much too busy to plan a wedding. I was chairing the YWCA women of the year selection process and would emcee a December award luncheon for 600 people. A few days later, I would head to Chicago, chairing three days of conference programming for college and university publications people. Both of these would require time and attention for months, on top of my busy job.

Peter pointed out that when Abby returned from her Mom's for the start of school we would have much less opportunity to see one another. With both of us so busy, our relationship might indeed fail. On the other hand, if we were together he could cook for me and give me foot-rubs while I worked on my projects. I had to admit that sounded nice.

"Why don’t I just move in?" I asked. “No,” he said. “I want my daughter to know you are special, that I respect you. You’re not moving in until we’re married.”

One night we were sitting in the living room at my house, the house I had just furnished. It had character and beauty, and it was perfect for me. It would even work for two. The living room and master bedroom were huge, and the bathroom had a long counter with two sinks, two mirrors, two sets of cabinets. But the second bedroom was tiny, and we couldn’t quite make the place work for three. Plus, it was in the wrong school district; we wanted Abby to stay in her grade school. I began to cry at the thought of leaving my house. “You know what that means, don’t you?” he said. “You’ve decided to move and you’re beginning to grieve.” I couldn’t argue with that. I let myself cry a while longer.

They lived in a townhouse in a first-ring suburb. While I hated the whole idea of townhouses and suburbs, I hadn’t yet been there! He invited me to come over on Sunday afternoon, June 23. He and Abby spent the morning cleaning and they showed me around; then he made dinner for the three of us. After she went to bed, he put on a mix tape he had just made. It started with a song about flirtation and worked its way through romance to something along the lines of let’s spend our life together.

The day was drawing to a close. “What do you think,” he asked. “Could you live here?”

The townhouse was plain; I didn’t love it. But we didn’t have to live there forever, and the question wasn’t really about the townhouse.

“Yes, I think I could live here,” I said.

The next morning at work I received orchids. I called to thank him. “Well,” he said, “It’s not every day that someone accepts my proposal of marriage.”

Omigod, I thought. What have I done?